


The Spoils of War

by Byedletre



Series: My light, my heart [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Edelgard! Edelgard!, F/F, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, One Shot, Pining, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Relationship, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byedletre/pseuds/Byedletre
Summary: Edelgard looks up and hardly has a chance to register the colourful streak heading around her desk before she’s pulled to the side of her chair in a crushing hug.A head of wild green hair presses against the side of her face, individual hairs tickling her skin, and that lovely scent of tea and flowers filling the air. She can’t help but smile, even with her arms pinned against her sides as she’s squashed between the plates of her armoured dress. “My—teacher,” she strains out, “how may—I help you?”Edelgard takes part in a tournament at her teacher’s behest.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & Everyone, Edelgard von Hresvelg & My Unit | Byleth, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Series: My light, my heart [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984019
Comments: 11
Kudos: 135





	The Spoils of War

**Author's Note:**

> There's hints of Ferdinand/Hubert and Dorothea/Petra ‘cause I’m weak. It’s ambiguous, though—there’s room for interpretation.

Edelgard sets her quill down and moves the completed stack of paperwork to the side of her desk. She takes a moment to rub her temples under her crown. It relieves little of the tension there. And when she can no longer justify her inaction to herself, she reaches for the first paper of a new stack.

To think, they would have already taken a foothold in the Kingdom by now if not for the assault on Garreg Mach. Yet now they’ve been set back a month, left to lick their wounds before they’ll finally make another attempt. The senseless deaths of Ladislava, Randolph, and all the other unfortunate ones are a considerable blow to their army’s strength. Not to mention the morale… 

Though Fleche and the others continue to stay strong, anyway. And the church is worse off. And some of their ranks had the wisdom to surrender, and thus made it out alive. Those at least are small comforts.

Unfortunately, it does little to change the fact that the surprise attack only added to the burden that is the endless stacks of paper on Edelgard’s desk. Requisitions for more supplies from allied nobles, back and forth correspondence with other nobles that may be swayable, approvals for minor operations in the meantime before the next step forward…

And condolences to grieving families…

Edelgard sighs. She loathes the papers, yet she cannot abide by the idea of not giving her all to honour the sacrifices made on both sides. Which means that on this particular morning—that she would have been free to do with as she pleased, back when she was a student—she’s sitting in her office drowning in paperwork.

But there is at least one upside to the delay in Arianrhod’s siege—they have more time to devise tactics for the assault. The victory, as they called it, against the Knights of Seiros seemingly inspired people, and substantial headway has already been made. Thus Edelgard’s friends are free to take some time for themselves. It’s a nice morning, and the early spring’s air is refreshingly cool as it drifts in through the open window. And while Edelgard resents the fact that the light of the sun cannot reach her desk, it is fortunately still available for everyone else to enjoy.

Lysithea is likely honing her magic, an open tome before her as she sits in the library, or possibly the greenhouse. Dorothea may be chatting away with Petra, looking out across the lands around the monastery together. Ferdinand could be having tea under the cover in the gardens, accompanied by…Hubert, most likely. Caspar is undoubtedly in the training grounds, ever striving to improve, with Linhardt on standby for the inevitable injuries. Bernadetta likely isn’t in her room, now. She could be in the greenhouse, or the common room, or even the gardens; embroidering away, musing about her future. And Byleth… 

Byleth is almost certainly sprinting around the place, hugging anyone who will let her, pressing gifts into people’s hands before shooting off again to search for more of her friends. A soft smile plays its way onto Edelgard’s face. 

Though, a part of her that she has never quite been able to fully stamp out loathes the notion of her teacher hugging anyone besides her. The part of her that wants nothing more than to sink into her embrace, to stay between her strong arms forever, and damn the consequences.

Edelgard’s smile falters a bit. She has no time for such childish fantasies; she has much more important matters to worry about. Such as…the paper before her, which she is now realising she has yet to read a _single_ word of.

The rest of her smile drops, her brow furrows, and she renews her efforts once more. 

Or, at least, she attempts to renew her efforts. But the words hold little meaning. They’re blending together, swirling about the page, offering no insight to the information contained within. 

Edelgard sighs again, resting her elbows on the desk and rubbing her eyes. Sleep remains elusive, most nights. The casualties of war only exacerbate the nightmares. 

And she can’t continue to bother her teacher every restless night. Even if she claims that it’s not a problem. Even if her presence is so infinitely calming. Even if the times Edelgard has slept in her company were the most peaceful nights of her life, even before her time in the Kingdom.

But regardless…the papers care not whether Edelgard has slept. And neither does she. She can press on, all she has to do is—

She jumps when the door to the office slams open.

She looks up and hardly has a chance to register the colourful streak heading around her desk before she’s pulled to the side of her chair in a crushing hug.

A head of wild green hair presses against the side of Edelgard’s face, individual hairs tickling her skin, and that lovely scent of tea and flowers filling the air. She can’t help but smile, even with her arms pinned to her sides as she’s squashed between the plates of her armoured dress. “My—teacher,” she strains out, “how may—I help you?”

Byleth pulls away but remains a bit crouched down, leaving her hands looped loose around Edelgard’s shoulders. Edelgard looks up at her much-too-close face, catching her breath yet drowning in swirling pools of mint green. 

Long gone are the days of that gorgeous cornflower blue. The colour of one specific mercenary; she who stumbled first into Garreg Mach, and then into the hearts of all who resided there. One Imperial princess, in particular. The very same Imperial princess who could not help but lament the loss of that colour, that ran parallel to her apparent loss of that person.

Yet so too does the goddess’ green hold its own value, in what it represents. The Enlightened One, blessed by Her, accoutred in Her colours, the wielder of Her blade. 

The goddess’ chosen.

And yet. Even so.

She stands alongside Edelgard, most blasphemous of sinners, she who the goddess abandoned. A back turned on an undeserving church. A hand held out towards a sad, lonely girl.

“Edelgard,” says the Enlightened One, says the Professor, says Byleth, the softly spoken name sounding so lovely in her voice, yet almost failing to reach the ears of its owner. “I need you for the axe tournament.”

“You…you need me?” Edelgard whispers, drifting in the aether, too lost among the stars to provide an insightful response.

“Yes,” she says, nodding along with the word, underlining it, decisive in all things, never failing to send Edelgard’s heart aflutter. “The prize is a silver axe.” And finally, her hands retract, allowing Edelgard some clarity of mind. Byleth walks around the desk to stand at the opposite side.

Edelgard blinks rapidly as she returns to the world once more. She catches up with her teacher’s reasoning, she considers the words. The words that really ought not to take such consideration. “And you…would like this axe,” she says, to which Byleth nods. 

Edelgard’s brow furrows. “One would think that they’d offer it up for the war effort.” She pauses a moment to fully ground herself. “Isn’t there anyone else you could ask? Surely one of the others would be able to win it for you.”

“Yes,” Byleth says without hesitation. “But I want to get it from you.”

Edelgard curses her heart for how it leaps at those words. She _must_ stay focused—she has work to do.

She shakes her head and looks back down to her desk. Her quill again enters her hand. And she starts signing off on what she can now see is yet another letter. “Even so, I’m afraid that—”

“You can practice using your new armour.”

The scratching of Edelgard’s quill stops, a half-completed signature the only trace of its influence. “But my work cannot—”

“And the soldiers like watching you fight.”

Edelgard stares at the paper, as if it might hold the answer to a question she has yet to ask. “That doesn’t—”

“And I like watching you fight.”

Edelgard curses her heart again, for how easily her teacher can make it lurch.

“Be that as it may,” she says, speaking over the next point Byleth shoots her way, her eyes boring holes into the partial rendition of her name. “I am flattered that you’d come to me. Really. But I’m afraid I’m rather preoccupied at present.”

That gets no response. After a good few seconds, Edelgard finally allows her eyes to rise, to see whether her teacher has simply left. And she finds that she is still standing there…

With the slightest of pouts on her face.

Edelgard once again curses her heart, this time for how it wrenches at the sight. 

She drops her quill and places her hands back to her temples. “Professor. I would love to help you, but as I said, these papers can’t wait.”

“My room has a desk,” Byleth says, brightening up again. “You can work there between matches.”

Edelgard considers a moment, before sighing at how difficult it’s becoming to keep saying no. She looks away, dropping her hands to rest on her lap. 

It’ll take her an age to change into the emperor’s armour. She’ll be working later than usual to make up for that lost time, and that of the fights, too. And Hubert will come after her…

But her teacher needs her.

And she could do with the chance to exert herself. It may help with her fatigue. 

She sighs again, but can’t stop herself smiling anyway. She looks back to Byleth. “Very well, then.”

Byleth brightens further, her smile growing ever wider, positively luminous in her joy. 

Edelgard forces herself to stay focused. She doesn’t need to waste any more time than she already has. And soon will. “I suppose they’re waiting for you to return to begin the tournament?”

Byleth nods.

“Well, I’ll need some time to move my papers and to change into my armour.”

“I’ll move them for you. And I’ll warn them that you’re on your way.”

An image of Byleth rolling a red carpet out for Edelgard’s arrival flashes through her mind. “You really need not—”

“Oh. Do you need help getting changed?”

Edelgard’s cheeks burst into flames. “No! No, that’s—that’s quite alright, please, go ahead and warn them. But have them start without me; as I said, it will take me a while.” She pauses a moment as she discerns her plan of action. “You said you’ll move my papers?”

Byleth nods.

“Very well, then. Thank you, my teacher.”

Byleth smiles for just a moment longer before she takes a stack of paper from the desk, and shoots off out the door.

Edelgard stares at the space she was standing in for a scant few seconds. She exhales, rises to her feet, and makes for her room.

* * *

Edelgard does up the last of the clasps to keep the golden breastplate in place, and checks that it fits comfortably. She finds no issues—the smiths did an excellent job adjusting it for her build. The convex design will deflect attacks away from her centre. Certainly better than the other design they were suggesting, anyway.

With it in place, all that remains to put on is the armour for her arms, and the cape. So she moves on, picking up a vambrace from the armour strewn across her desk. She has just started fitting it on when there’s a knock at her door.

Hubert’s knock.

One of her eyebrows rises. Her voice rises too, to reach him through the door. “Is there something that requires my attention, Hubert?” 

“Besides your paperwork?”

Edelgard’s eyes roll. Whatever else could it have been? She moves on to the other vambrace and says, “It will be completed. I assure you.”

“And how, pray tell, will you complete it when you’re preoccupied scuffling with the soldiers? You’ve no time for such nonsense, Lady Edelgard.”

“I take it you saw the Professor, then? Did she tell you that she’s interested in the silver axe they have as a prize?” She takes a couter from her desk and fits it over her elbow.

“No, she failed to mention it.” He pauses a moment. “One would think that they’d offer it up for the war effort.”

A slight grin grows on Edelgard’s face, yet despite it she says, “Yes, well, we can’t force them to give it up. I will just have to earn it, instead.” The other couter comes on, too.

“We certainly could force them to give it up,” Hubert says, a smirk almost audible in his tone.

“No, we certainly could _not.”_ She picks up a gauntlet and pulls it on. She takes the other gauntlet too, waving it before her as she says, “The Professor is moving my paperwork to the desk in her room right now, Hubert. Between matches, I will go there, and I will continue working. It will only be the time of my own matches that’s lost.” She finally pulls the gauntlet on and flexes her fingers within it.

He does not respond for a time, as she takes the cape from her bed and pulls it over the pauldrons. 

“Even so, Your Majesty,” he eventually says. “If I may…I simply cannot abide by such purposeless fooling around.”

“Hubert, please, it’s not purposeless. If I’m going to wear the emperor’s armour into battle, it’s important that I get acclimated to it beforehand.”

She takes the pauldrons’ feathered accents and moves to stand before her mirror. 

“And being seen spending time amongst the soldiers will reinforce that I don’t think I’m above them—it will improve morale.” 

She fixes the cape in place with the accents and pushes it out to billow behind her. 

“And demonstrating my combat skill will show that I have the strength to do what must be done—that I’m a leader worth following.” 

She looks over herself to check that she hasn’t missed anything. No pieces of armour are absent, and thankfully, everything below her head is covered. Satisfied, she picks up the matching red and gold shield by its handle. 

_“And,_ if nothing else, a silver axe is a precious weapon that may turn the tide of at least one battle. Lives may be saved, Hubert.”

She steps to the door and swings it open to address him directly.

“Besides. Keeping the Professor happy is in our best interests. She’s among our most elite forces, she’s our single best tactician, and you’ve seen how she gets when we don’t humour her whims.”

Now Hubert’s eyes are the ones rolling. “Please, don’t remind me.” He sighs. “Clearly I’ve no hope of convincing you away from this. I will have to accompany you.”

Edelgard could question him. There are certainly better things for him to be doing with his time, and it’s not as if she might get injured. But he would come regardless. It’s only a matter of whether he tries to hide it or not.

“Fine, but don’t even consider interfering.” She leaves her room, locks the door behind her, and starts walking. Hubert falls into step with her without hesitation. “I will appear weak if I have assistance for something so inconsequential as this.”

“I will endeavour to keep out of it.”

“Hubert. You _will_ keep out of it.”

“Of course, Lady Edelgard.”

They say no more as they leave the dormitories, back out into the morning sun. They head in the direction of the training grounds, passing soldiers and guards alike. All those they pass hear the clanking of her boots and salute as they make way for the Emperor and the Minister of the Imperial Household. Edelgard almost wishes they wouldn’t.

Yet despite how loud her armour is, it’s surprisingly comfortable. It’s easy to move in, more so than the other types of heavy armour she has worn. Nor is the shield unwieldy, despite being large enough to protect most of her body at the same time. And the armour isn’t too hot, either. Even in the sun, she’s at a comfortable temperature. The coolness in the air helps, too.

As they start to near the training grounds, a chorus of cheers resounds. There must be many competitors, then. There’s also that distinctive smell of sweat and steel, that is only growing thicker in the air as the grounds’ doors draw closer.

It’s a familiar scent. Too familiar. 

But then, it’s much more agreeable now, without the stench of blood accompanying it. Like this, it’s almost reminiscent of a more peaceful time. The light of the sun, the cool air of spring, the now-scarce liveliness of the monastery… It’s as if Edelgard were still a student, invited by her teacher to take part in an inter-house tournament. Edelgard would conquer the opposition without difficulty. They’d sit together on the sidelines between her matches, few words needing to be said between them. And once she won, they’d retreat to the gardens to share a pot of tea and some surprisingly insightful conversation. People always said that the Professor was never so expressive with anyone else.

“Your Majesty?”

Edelgard looks around, blinking. Hubert’s giving her an unimpressed look. They’re standing in front of the doors. The noise from the grounds has died down, too. 

She must have gotten lost in her memories.

“Yes. Thank you, Hubert.”

She pushes the doors open, the great things creaking as they heave apart, yet giving her little trouble. She and Hubert enter. She closes the doors again behind her. 

The second set of doors are smaller and quieter, and once they’re in the grounds, she takes a moment to scan the area. The large arena that’s marked out on the stone floor is vacant. The sidelines of the grounds are not, however. In the sunlight pouring in through the open roof, it’s clear that dozens of eyes are on Edelgard. 

There are many of her fellow former students—Ashe and Annette are sitting together, Raphael and Caspar are leaning against adjacent pillars, Balthus is looking down to chat with someone who’s obscured by another pillar, Ingrid has seemingly turned up to watch Sylvain, and Dorothea must be here to watch Petra… Just about anyone who’s capable of wielding an axe showed up, with a good few people who can provide healing, too. Somehow, even Linhardt is present, albeit sprawled against a pillar. There are also Imperial soldiers, who Edelgard recognises most of. There are some members of her and her friends’ battalions, for instance.

She nods at each person who meets her eyes, receiving a good few smiles in response. Yet oddly enough, her teacher is nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t still be moving papers, could she? She said she wanted to watch…

Edelgard does her best not to dwell on it any longer. Hubert leaves her side, while she heads deeper into the area. She makes for the tournament organiser, who salutes her when she greets them by name.

“Greetings, Your Majesty! You’re up next, so please take a corner of the arena and arm yourself. Would you like me to run the rules by you?”

Edelgard would ask them not to use her title, but she has no choice other than to leave it. The Emperor must not be seen as _too_ friendly.

“No, that’s quite alright. Thank you.”

She walks to one side of the arena. She heads for the rack of training axes and takes one. It’s made of wood, but despite that, it has a good weight to it anyway. She gives it a few test swings, finding that it’s well balanced, too. Even in the time of war, the training weapons continue to be of a surprisingly high quality.

She turns to face the arena, and over by the training grounds’ doors, a couple of soldiers heave them open to make way for someone. Seemingly her opponent is the one that is revealed. And Edelgard has to look further up than normal to meet their eyes, as they walk in through the doors. Or, trot in, rather—they’re sitting on the back of a horse. A particularly tall one.

“Ferdinand,” she says across the arena, an edge of fatigue to her tone. “Tell me you didn't sign up here just to face off against me.”

“What? No, of course not!” Ferdinand’s horse halts at the opposite edge of the arena. He takes a training axe that is offered to him, while his other hand splays against his chest. “I joined this tournament, so that I may demonstrate my skills with an axe, and learn more beyond that! I'm here to provide a challenge for the Empire's soldiers, and to better myself in the process!” He points his axe towards Edelgard and smirks. “Another chance to defeat you is no more than a delightful bonus.”

“Hm. Your spirit is admirable.” She squares her feet. “Come, then. Prove your worth to me!”

They stare each other down, saying no more. In the corner of Edelgard's eye, she sees the tournament organiser looking between them. 

“Begin!” 

Ferdinand’s horse charges parallel to the arena’s edge, his axe rising to one side, while Edelgard moves several paces forth into the arena. She takes up a defensive stance, readying herself. Ferdinand soon changes course to canter past her, taking a swing at her head as he goes by.

Edelgard blocks the strike with minimal effort and Ferdinand comes around to make another pass. His axe is raised in exactly the same position as before. 

Her eyebrow rises. She returns to a neutral stance, her arms hanging limp at her sides. And when Ferdinand takes his swing, Edelgard’s axe flies out with practised ease. She aims for his axe’s handle, the axes’ heads lock together, and she pulls. 

Ferdinand lacks the wisdom to let go of his axe.

He falls from his horse as only a noble could—utterly gracelessly. He’s a mess of flailing limbs as he tumbles to the floor, some laughter and hollering rearing in the crowd around them. And when Ferdinand’s thrashing ceases, Edelgard moves her axe’s blade to his neck. She looks down to meet his wide eyes.

“Alas!” Ferdinand cries. “You’ve defeated me once again, Edelgard. I yield.”

“Her Majesty wins!” comes the call of the tournament organiser.

The crowd’s amusement turns to cheering that echoes through the grounds as Edelgard withdraws her axe and offers a hand to help Ferdinand up. “It was a decent attempt,” she says, raising her voice to be heard over the noise. “Though, in future, perhaps consider a different strategy when the first does not work.”

“Perhaps I shall! But I can see that your skills with an axe remain unparalleled. How tragic it is, that I’d be put out of the runnings so early.” A smile spreads across his face. “Still, at least we’ve provided a show for the soldiers!”

He turns to bow at several groups of the gathered people, receiving louder hollers from each group that he faces.

Edelgard can’t suppress a tiny smile at his antics. She’s fortunate to still have her old friends. Long gone are the days when she thought she would lose them.

As Ferdinand rises from one of his bows, his face lights up when his eyes fix on something in particular. He turns to face in the direction of the training grounds’ doors, and gives an especially grand bow. Edelgard follows his gaze, to find her teacher standing there—she must have slipped in during the fight. She’s smiling, and as she meets Edelgard’s eyes, her smile grows wider. And so too does Edelgard’s own.

Edelgard returns her axe to the rack, eager to speak with her teacher again, before heading off the arena in her direction. Ferdinand is handling his horse as she passes by, and she takes a moment to thank him for his efforts. He gives her another proud smile. 

When Edelgard is closer to the doors, Byleth says, “Edelgard. Well done. Dismounting Ferdinand was a good move.”

Immediately, heat threatens to surface in Edelgard’s cheeks. She forces it down and says, “It was nothing all that special. He left himself open in the same manner twice, and he paid for it.”

“You found your opponent’s weakness,” Byleth says, shaking her head. “You did well.”

“Well, if you insist,” Edelgard quickly says, doing her best not to think of it any more, lest her embarrassment make itself visible. “May I go to your room now?”

Byleth nods. “I’ll tell you when it’s your turn.”

“I will see you soon, then. Thank you, my teacher.” Byleth nods again as Edelgard walks past her, and Hubert appears from the side to follow along.

As they start walking away from the outer set of doors, Hubert speaks up. “Another excellent fight, Your Majesty. You’ve my gratitude for putting that grandiose buffoon in his place once more.”

“Oh, hush now, Hubert. I’m sure he’ll be available for tea again sometime soon.”

That gets no response. Edelgard looks up at Hubert to find him staring straight ahead, his cheeks dusted with the slightest tinge of pink. “…Yes.” He clears his throat. “I will guard the door while you work, so you may remain unbothered.”

“I sincerely doubt that anyone will attempt to intrude. But if it pleases you, go right ahead.” Her brow furrows as a thought occurs. “Or are you expecting me to try to leave?”

Again, she receives no response. She rolls her eyes but makes no further comments.

They arrive at Byleth’s door and, as always, it’s unlocked. Edelgard enters, that scent of tea and flowers once again greeting her, and Hubert bows as she closes the door behind her. 

The room is somewhat spartan, as it always has been, and much akin to Edelgard’s own. But there are trinkets here and there, now, that have only grown in number each time Edelgard has visited. On the windowsill is the flowerpot, that’s full of red lilies this time. Sitting near it is the famed tea box, which Edelgard knows from experience is well-stocked at all times. And hanging above the bed is a new addition—a miniature banner depicting the Black Eagles insignia. The corners of Edelgard’s lips twitch upwards.

She looks to the desk. Spread across it is her paperwork, laid out exactly as it was on her own desk. Also present is a steaming teapot, with a cup and saucer waiting next to it. Warmth blooms through Edelgard’s chest, her smile growing ever wider.

She rests her shield against the side of the desk and takes a seat. Somehow, it’s rather comfortable, despite her armoured skirt beneath her. And it would be terribly rude of her to let her teacher’s efforts go to waste, so she pours herself a cup of the tea. She lifts it to her lips, pausing briefly to inhale the scent of…citrus. It’s hard to fathom that she could possibly smile any wider, yet here she is all the same.

She takes a sip, humming in appreciation. And she sets the cup back down onto its saucer, and sets herself back to her work.

* * *

Edelgard jumps at a commotion outside the room. She looks up to see the door swinging open, revealing her teacher walking in and Hubert grasping at a pillar as he rises to his feet. Did he fall…?

“Edelgard. It’s your turn.”

She blinks. “Has it been that long already? I must have gotten carried away with my work.” She sets her quill down and rises from her seat. “Thank you for the tea, my teacher. It was wonderfully thoughtful of you.”

Byleth says nothing, but a gentle smile spreads across her face, sending Edelgard’s heart aflutter. She pays no heed to the look Hubert is giving her over Byleth’s shoulder.

Edelgard grabs her shield in one hand and takes the hand her teacher is holding out with her other. They leave the room. As usual, Byleth offers her other hand to Hubert, and—as usual—he elects not to take it, instead falling into step with them on Edelgard’s other side. They start heading for the training grounds.

Edelgard is almost tempted to lead them in another direction, to spend just a little bit longer in the company of the two who are most like family to her. But rationale wins out, in the end. She’s already being flippant with her time as is. And her teacher would undoubtedly remind her of the tournament. Or, rather, wordlessly attempt to lead her back there. And she can’t even begin to imagine what Hubert would say.

They soon re-enter the grounds. There are fewer people than before, the most notable losses being Sylvain and Ingrid. He must have been eliminated, and she must see little reason to linger in his absence.

Edelgard has no choice but to walk away from Byleth and Hubert. She silently laments the loss of her teacher’s hand but moves to her corner of the arena anyway. She takes up a training axe once more, before turning to face her opponent.

“Annette.”

“Yes!” she blurts, stumbling a bit as she pulls an axe from the rack on her side of the arena. The rack wobbles dangerously, but remains standing tall as Annette makes her way to her corner. Her gaze rises to meet Edelgard’s own. She holds eye contact for just a moment before her eyes flick over to the sidelines, and then off to wherever else. She starts fidgeting with the hem of her robes.

Edelgard looks over to the spot in the sidelines that attracted Annette’s attention. 

Hubert.

“Annette,” Edelgard repeats, causing her to stop and look in Edelgard’s direction. “You need not worry. Come what may, I’ll make sure that Hubert does not chase after you.” She turns her head to look at him again. There’s a careful neutrality to his expression. 

But there’s also the faintest hint of a raised eyebrow, as if to say, _We’ll see about that._

Edelgard glares at him. _Do not test my patience._

He stoops into a low bow. 

Edelgard looks back to Annette, who was watching the interaction. She smiles. “Hold nothing back, Annette. I wish to see the fullest extent of your capabilities.”

Annette quickly nods a few times. “Okay, I won’t!” She adjusts her grip on her axe and squares her feet. She gives another quick glance in Hubert’s direction, but when she looks back, she meets Edelgard’s eyes without flinching.

“Begin!”

Edelgard takes slow, careful steps forward as Annette bounds in her direction. She looks eager to take the first strike, so Edelgard stops. She plants her feet wide, tightens her grip on her shield, and waits.

If Annette is still feeling hesitant, she does not show it. Her movement is resolute as she draws near and raises her axe high above her head. It soon falls in an overhead strike, and it’s hissing and sparking—Annette is using a magical combat technique. One that Edelgard is well acquainted with. 

Instinctually, she prepares herself. She wills her mind into cohesion, forming mental barriers exactly as her teacher taught her. Meanwhile, her arm raises her shield—prepared or not, taking such an attack to the head could be disastrous.

Her shield halts the axe without difficulty, but the magic passes through unhindered, and Edelgard’s limbs tremble in the slightest as electricity courses through her system. But thanks to her preparation, she wards off the bulk of the impact.

So she presses onwards. Annette is close, _vulnerable_ —she stands no chance of blocking. Edelgard cleaves the air apart, and Annette’s eyes widen as the axe stops a hair’s breadth from her neck.

“I yield,” she squeaks.

“Her Majesty wins again!”

Once again, cheers echo through the arena, louder this time. Edelgard lowers her axe. She smiles at Annette as she speaks over the noise. “Well fought. A lesser opponent would have stood no chance against your magical prowess.”

“Oh!” Her cheeks flush with red. “Hah, well… You really think so? I only got one hit in.”

“Right you are, and you should be prepared for the possibility that your first strike will be inadequate, in future. But I stand by what I said. If I hadn’t readied myself to face your magic, you surely would have bested me. It’s clear as day that you’ve toiled to come so far, and the fruits of your labour are plentiful. The Empire is indebted to you for your tremendous skill.”

Annette beams. “Really? Yay!” She bounds forward to wrap her arms around Edelgard, who stiffens at the contact. Thankfully, despite the armour separating them, Annette seems to sense Edelgard’s discomfort. She leaps away again, recoiling as if she’d been burned. “Ah, I’m so sorry, Your Majesty! I, uh, I’m—”

“Annette,” Edelgard says, cutting her stammering off. “It’s quite alright, I assure you. It was unexpected, that’s all. And, please. Don’t start calling me by my title. Just ‘Edelgard’ is enough.”

It may not be possible for her to ask the soldiers to forgo the formalities, but for her… _friends,_ she’ll make exceptions. Her heart feels a little lighter at the thought that she can even call Annette as such.

Annette brightens again. “Oh! Okay then! Thanks, Your Majes—urk! I mean, La—delgard, I… I’ll just…get out of your hair.“ She takes a step back and trips on her own feet. Edelgard is left standing alone, and somewhat bewildered, as Annette stumbles away to the edge of the grounds where Ashe, Caspar, and Mercedes are gathered.

Edelgard remains a moment longer before it occurs that she’s blocking the tournament from proceeding. 

So she takes a moment to return her axe to its rack. And she starts walking off, in the direction of the door. Again, her teacher is waiting there, and again, she’s smiling.

“Edelgard,” she says when they’re a bit closer together. “You’re getting very good at resisting magic.”

And—again—heat threatens to surface in Edelgard’s cheeks. “Praise isn’t necessary, my teacher. Really. Besides, I should have done better; I failed to ward it all off.” 

Byleth’s smile drops. “You’re injured.” She steps closer before Edelgard can explain that she’s fine, and her hands rise to caress Edelgard’s cheeks.

Any hope Edelgard had of quelling her blush is utterly dashed. In an instant the entirety of her face is burning, all the way up to her ears, and Byleth must be able to feel the heat under her palms. Though, mercifully, she makes no comment. Yellow light like the sun’s rays come forth from her hands, a warmth emanating from her touch, one that runs deeper than Edelgard’s blush and lifts away some of her fatigue from earlier in the day.

“I can only do this twice this tournament,” Byleth says, her eyes narrowed in the slightest as they flick back and forth over each side of Edelgard’s face.

Some kind of undignified, meaningless, wavering hum spills out from Edelgard. She should say something in response, and yet…despite the roughness of Byleth’s calluses, her hands are always so strong, so lithe, so dextrous, and even without the magic, so _warm_ … 

Edelgard can’t help but melt into her teacher’s hands, a concerningly large part of her wanting nothing more than to hold her in place and never allow her to leave.

But Edelgard should _really_ say something, already.

“I…” she says, attempting to regain her balance. “I wasn’t…particularly harmed. You could have saved it for later…”

“You were injured,” Byleth says, and that must be that, because the light dims and her hands lower. Edelgard already misses them. “Now you’re not.”

“I suppose so…” Edelgard takes a deep breath. It’s heart-warming that her teacher is so protective of her, even if she continues to make a fool of her at every turn. “Thank you. My teacher.”

Byleth smiles for a moment, shining brighter than her own magic, before walking past Edelgard. Presumably she’s off to advise Annette.

And Edelgard remains standing there, staring into nothingness, lost in the phantom vestiges of her teacher’s touch.

But reality soon returns, taking the form of Hubert. “Your Majesty,” he says, something knowing in his voice. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” Edelgard straightens her posture, even as the tournament organiser calls out from behind for the next fight to begin. “Let’s.” 

* * *

Edelgard pauses the scratching of her quill for but a moment to take another sip of tea. It’s rather cold by now, yet somehow it’s still delicious.

As she lowers the cup back down, the distinctive rumbling sound of a spell comes through the door. Her brow furrows. _What_ is Hubert doing?

Her answer comes in the form of his knock on the door. “Lady Edelgard,” he says, somewhat muffled through the wood, “I believe your next match is ready to begin.”

She sets her cup down and takes up her shield. 

“What is going on?” she says as she walks through the door. Her nose scrunches up as she’s hit with that telltale ashen scent of dark magic. Hubert’s standing at the top of the stairs, his hands behind his back, and down the steps is Byleth, who’s bound in wispy phantoms but smiling serenely all the same.

Edelgard walks up beside Hubert, turning her head to fix him a glare, further demanding an explanation.

He does not waver, too familiar with her ire for his own good. “The Professor had difficulty restraining her enthusiasm before. I did not wish to be knocked over again. Thus, a weakened Banshee slowed her course.”

“It was a good spell,” Byleth adds.

“Hubert!” Edelgard pinches her brow, ignoring her teacher’s comment. “Do not cast dark magic on the Professor. We don’t need her getting injured if you happen to overdo it.”

“Sincerest apologies, Your Majesty. In future I will strive to be more careful around those you are… _protective_ of.”

Edelgard turns her whole body now, giving the harshest glare she can muster. Yet still, he does not balk. The insufferable fool knows not the true extent of the wrath he’s inciting.

“Edelgard,” Byleth says from the side. “It’s your turn.”

She turns back, and finds her teacher’s hand held out, the bindings having already dissipated. At least she won’t have to tell Hubert to release her. 

“Then let us proceed, my teacher,” she says, matching Byleth’s smile and taking her hand. They start walking off together, not waiting to see if Hubert will catch up. It serves him right.

They soon arrive. More people have departed in the meantime, yet a good amount still remain. The majority of the soldiers have dispersed by now, besides some of Edelgard’s Supreme Armoured Company.

Edelgard returns to her corner of the arena. As she takes up her axe, clattering footsteps sound out behind her, seemingly heading for the other side of the arena. She turns to face her opponent. And they turn from the opposite rack, clonking all the while, in that heavy plate armour they’re wearing. Heavier than their usual armour, in fact.

“Alois.”

“Edelgard! Awfully sorry to turn up wearing armour like this—I hope I’m not putting too much on your _plate!”_ Metal clonks on metal as he punctuates his joke by bashing a fist against his chest.

Groans resound from the spectators. It’s good to hear him treating Edelgard as an equal, but he does make a good point. Her experience as a fortress knight from back when she was a student taught her that her current armour is lighter than Alois’. So she’s a bit quicker on her feet, but he’s a bit sturdier. She’ll last longer without getting tired, but he’s the wall she has to topple. 

But then, she has her Crests, too. Accursed things though they are, she’s never been particularly weighed down by her armour, even back when it was that much heavier.

“Well, we will simply have to see. Hold nothing back, Alois.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!”

And no more is said for a time. 

Until…

“Begin!”

They move together, meet in the middle of the arena, and both take a swing at each other.

Alois’ axe clanks on Edelgard’s shield. Edelgard’s axe clonks on Alois’ shield.

They trade more blows in this manner, and every single swing of their axes strikes true, yet neither of them can gain any ground. Toppling metal with wood is proving to be an exercise in futility on both sides.

In a normal battle, a well-placed spell from one of Edelgard’s friends would have found its way into her opponent by now. Or she would have used her own magic to close it out.

And she wouldn’t hesitate to do so, if it were an actual battle.

But she’s never been good at pulling her punches, and Alois has yet to show much aptitude for warding off magical attacks. She’d likely kill him.

Having fought for so long now, Alois is starting to pant for air. Wearing such heavy armour isn’t so bad for the most part, but it isn’t made for extended active combat such as this. And, cool air or not, the sun beating down from above only makes matters worse. Edelgard would be tiring too, if not for her Crests.

But that means she has the advantage. And she didn’t come to show sympathy for her opponents.

She takes an overhead swing. His shield rises to meet it, blocking it without difficulty, which was not unexpected. But her strength is superior, as long as she can muster it without breaking her axe.

So she drops her shield and takes another hold on the axe, higher up on its handle, to put her other arm’s strength into it. It would be a foolish move in actual combat. But here, her head is her only vulnerable area, and her arms are shielding it.

Alois grunts, his armour making a terrible screeching noise against the stone as he is pushed back in the slightest. Yet still, he holds on. 

Excitement rears in the crowd around them. Some clapping, some cheers. A particularly enthusiastic cheer draws Edelgard’s attention, her eyes turning to glance in the direction of the noise. 

She doesn’t find out who the cheer came from. 

Instead, her eyes land on her teacher.

Byleth is leaning forward in rapt attention, her gaze unblinking, a slight upwards curve to her lips.

_She’s beautiful._

The thought intrudes unbidden, yet Edelgard cannot find it in herself to disagree. Her glance soon becomes a prolonged look, and shortly after is none other than a stare. Those beautiful, damnable, bottomless pools of swirling mint green… Edelgard is drifting again, only dimly aware of it happening, yet led so astray that she can’t help but—

Something slams into the centre of her chest. 

Edelgard is broken from her reverie, and so too is her axe’s hold on Alois broken. She’s caught so off guard that she stumbles back a few paces as she regains both her footing and her bearings. 

She takes a moment to stretch her limbs out, returning to the world, just catching the tail end of some gasps from the crowd as Alois pants for air ahead of her. She shoots another quick glance at her teacher to find that her brow is furrowed, now.

Edelgard blinks. Her teacher _needs_ her.

She must not disappoint her teacher.

She must not be defeated.

_She must not falter._

She sets her brow, she turns her attention back to her foe, and she marches. 

Always, she marches. Marching, marching, ever onwards, into the new dawn.

And when Alois is within striking distance, some unnameable, unknowable flame roars to life within her. The world’s colours all around her blur together, her blood pounding in her ears as her body moves without thought.

 _“NO MERCY!”_ she hears herself bellowing. Both of her hands again take hold of her axe, her body spinning to put the whole of her might into a horizontal sweep.

And when her axe crashes into Alois’ shield, his feet leave the ground.

Edelgard blinks a few times, slowly returning to her senses, as Alois collapses back down to the stone some distance away. Murmured words followed by a chorus of cheers are just audible through her haze. She should not get so carried away, beating up her own soldiers.

When the world returns to focus, Edelgard drops her axe and rushes over to Alois to check for wounds. As she draws near, crossing the boundary of the arena that he flew straight over, he sits up and looks up at her. He places a hand to the side of his head.

“My goodness,” he says. “What a _smashing_ performance!”

A wave of groans echoes through the arena and Edelgard breathes a sigh of relief. If he’s well enough to be jesting, then he must be relatively unharmed. It is fortunate that he is wearing such heavy armour.

She offers a hand to help him up. “You’ve my sincerest apologies for that, Alois. You are uninjured, correct?”

He grins as he comes to his feet. “Never been better!” He bashes a fist against his chest. “This old body’s a tough nut to crack. You’d think I too was a professor, for all my time in _macadamia!”_

More groans resound in the space, and Edelgard has to suppress a silly grin. “Yes, well.” She clears her throat. “The attack last month proved that the Knights of Seiros continue to be fearsome opponents. But it seems that five years apart have done nothing to dull your skills. The Empire is truly grateful to have someone as stalwart and…” She pauses to search for the right word. “ _…jubilant_ as you among our ranks.”

“Well, that’s good to hear! Don’t you worry. As long as you’ve got the Professor, you’ve got me!”

A wry smile finds its way onto Edelgard’s face. “Then let us hope that we don’t lose her.” 

_Again,_ she neglects to add.

“Quite so! Well fought, Edelgard! And, if I may…” He leans in, his voice lowering a bit, presumably so that only Edelgard can hear, but more than likely not enough to ensure that. 

“Your prowess in battle truly is _axe-_ ceptional.”

Edelgard can’t help but huff a quiet laugh, her spirits lifted from their brief decline. “And so too is yours, Alois. Well fought. But be sure to have a healer take a look at you.”

He shoots her a quick grin before clonking his way to the arena’s edge. Edelgard takes a moment to retrieve her shield and her axe—his too, he must have dropped it—before returning the axes to the rack. And she too makes her way away, to where her teacher is again waiting for her by the door.

“Edelgard.” Her face falls. “I’m sorry.”

Edelgard blinks in surprise at the sheer dejection radiating from her teacher. “Whatever are you sorry for?”

“I distracted you,” she says, her drooping eyebrows a rare sight on her, and yet…adorable. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It—” Edelgard tries, a little lost for words as she fights to suppress the urge to pinch Byleth’s cheeks. “It wasn’t your fault; I should have been paying attention. You’ve nothing to worry about, you did no wrong.”

Byleth lights up again in an instant. “You’re very strong,” she says, wrenching the conversation in a different direction the only way she knows how.

Edelgard’s cheeks heat up again; she’s caught too off guard to prevent it. “Please, my teacher. You need not flatter me.”

Byleth’s head tilts in the slightest. “But it’s true.” She pauses a moment. “Do you need healing again?”

The phantom of her teacher’s hands on her skin returns. The heat in her cheeks intensifies.

“No,” she says, forcing herself to act reasonably. She still has a tournament to win, after all, and she may need the healing later. “No, I’m unharmed. I will see you soon, my teacher.” Byleth nods in response, and Edelgard makes her escape before she’s tempted to change her mind. 

Hubert is already at her side as she closes the outer doors behind them. And when she turns away to start heading off, she finds Petra and Dorothea coming around from the direction of the Officer’s Academy. Petra is leading her wyvern by its reins, with Dorothea on her other side. They’re chatting away, looking as if they’re utterly captivated by each other. They must be, or they’d have heard the doors closing.

Edelgard starts walking in their direction, with Hubert following along after her. She’s about to speak up when Dorothea happens to glance over. The smile she was already wearing widens, and she casts a quick look around before rushing over and looping her arms around Edelgard’s neck. Edelgard can’t stop herself from tensing up.

“Oh, relax, Edie. No one’s watching.” 

Edelgard does find herself able to ease up at that knowledge. She returns the hug, enjoying it for just a moment, before drawing back again. 

“It’s so good to see you out of your office,” Dorothea says, leading Edelgard by her hand in Petra’s direction. “What in the world did the Professor say to separate you from your work?”

“She—urk!” Edelgard says, utterly devoid of grace, as Petra wraps an arm around her neck and pulls her in.

“It is good to be seeing you again!” Petra says from somewhere above Edelgard’s ear. “The reason is not being important.”

“It’s good to see you too, Petra…” 

Petra’s arm comes away again, allowing Edelgard to draw back and gather her composure a bit. Petra takes another hold of her wyvern’s reins. “I would be liking to be speaking with you more, but I am having my third fight to…fight,” she says, her brow furrowing towards the end.

“Of course. I have my own fight to fight, unfortunately. My paperwork can only wait so long,” Edelgard says, to which Dorothea sighs dramatically. “But be sure to show them what a true Brigid warrior can do.”

Petra beams in response. “I will be doing that! You have my thanks, Edelgard!”

“It won’t be long now before it’s your butt she’ll be kicking!” Dorothea chimes in.

Edelgard smirks. “She is certainly welcome to try.”

“Oh, you’d best hope she doesn’t get the chance to.” Dorothea gains a smirk of her own and turns her attention to Hubert, who’s standing away and to the side, never one to join in with the hugging. “And what about you, Hubie? Seeing as how Ferdie’s already out, who’re you betting on?”

“Such a foolish use of time, to worry about the victor of meaningless combat like this,” he says, conspicuously ignoring Ferdinand’s mention. He sighs, shaking his head. “If I were forced to choose, then my allegiance would lie with Lady Edelgard. None could hope to compare.”

Dorothea rolls her eyes and Petra giggles. “Of course it would, Hubie. Well…” She puts a hand to her hip, flicking her hair over her shoulder with the other. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

* * *

Edelgard places the completed paper aside and reaches for the next.

She’s just starting to read it when voices rise outside the room. Hubert’s sonorous tones, and another voice that’s higher, quieter, gentler. Someone did attempt to intrude, then? Or is it already—

The door swings open, again revealing Byleth. Hubert’s steady on his feet this time, which is good. And it seems that no spells were cast, which is even better.

“Edelgard. It’s your turn.”

She rises to her feet, smiling. “Let’s waste no more time, then.” Her hands again take hold of her shield and her teacher. They start heading to the training grounds.

Edelgard looks up at Byleth as they walk. “How did Petra perform, my teacher?”

“She lost.”

“Oh. Tell me she put up a good fight, at least.”

“She put up a good fight,” Byleth says, nodding. Edelgard listens, enraptured by her soft, melodious voice as she continues, “Her skill with an axe is improving. She’s getting better at handling her wyvern, too, and their bond is also improving. Her experience using bows as an assassin will be invaluable if she practices her aim from the sky. If she keeps progressing as she has been, she’ll soon be able to provide aerial support in battle and take shots at the enemy’s backlines. She’s doing very well.”

She stops there, likely due to their arrival at the training grounds. Edelgard can’t help but wish it had lasted longer. It never fails to impress how her teacher can tell so much while watching from the sidelines. And she’s so passionate about everyone’s progress…

Edelgard _will_ show her how far she has come.

They enter through the doors, Byleth and Hubert leaving Edelgard’s sides again. Petra and Dorothea are still present, sitting off to the side together, holding hands. Petra’s looking a little worse for wear, but she’s smiling all the same. Dorothea makes a show of blowing a kiss Edelgard’s way. She responds with a nod.

She takes up her corner of the arena and rearms herself. She turns to face her opponent. Her eyebrow rises.

“Hilda.”

“Edelgard.”

Edelgard taps a finger against the handle of her axe. The irreverent use of her name is irksome. Indeed, were it anyone else, she would be accommodating. Glad, even. But with Hilda… 

No matter. She has a battle to win. She tightens her grip on her axe and shield, squares her feet, and sizes Hilda up.

And while Alois was dressed to defend, Hilda seems to have opted for offence. She has no shield, nor much in the way of armour. Edelgard wore something similar during the few times her teacher had her fighting as a warrior. Though where she had coverings beneath the garb to conceal her skin, Hilda has nothing of the sort. An attempt to distract her foes, perhaps.

But Edelgard won’t be thrown off again. 

She shakes her head. “Prepare yourself, Hilda.”

Hilda rests her axe’s head against the ground and leans on its handle. “Who, me?” she says, grinning.

Edelgard stares on, unimpressed, and waits for the battle to begin.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long.

“Begin!”

Edelgard advances with care as Hilda picks her axe back up and saunters in Edelgard’s direction. Hilda’s axe is hanging limp at her side, but her few performances in battle since Derdriu have proved that she is a fearsome opponent. Edelgard tightens her grip on her shield.

When they’re within striking distance, Hilda’s axe comes up for a swing at a speed one would never expect from her attitude. But Edelgard is fast, too. Her shield rises to meet it, and Hilda’s strength is immense, but not enough to overpower Edelgard. Not on the first strike, anyway.

So she retaliates. She takes a swing of her own and, in her absence of a shield, Hilda uses her axe to meet it. She jerks a bit when contact occurs, but quickly recovers and comes around for another strike that Edelgard blocks.

And so it continues.

And while the previous battles were fairly standard, Hilda is proving to be a more than adequate opponent. Edelgard smirks, revelling in the adrenaline pumping through her veins. The occasional cheer or gasp comes from the crowd around them.

It’s as Hilda takes a shot at Edelgard’s legs that she decides to speak up. “You know, I never liked you.”

Edelgard adjusts her stance, her eyes narrowing. “Is that so?”

“Yup!” There’s a gleeful smile on Hilda’s face as she moves her strikes up, aiming for Edelgard’s head. “I could see there was something going on with you. Turns out I was right… The _Flame Emperor?_ Hah!”

“It was a product of necessity!” Edelgard barks, her tone perhaps betraying her indignation at Hilda’s jibe. It took her days to come up with that name. She takes a swipe at Hilda’s non-dominant side, fueled by her ire, sending Hilda back a step when she blocks it. “I would not have donned that mask if there were any other way!”

Hilda sighs, even as she returns to the offensive, her axe crashing against Edelgard’s shield again and again. “If you say so…” she drawls, sounding utterly unconvinced.

Edelgard takes her own retaliatory swings when she can. Hilda blocks them all, her arms getting shakier after each one. She soon starts dodging strikes too. Edelgard allows herself a little satisfaction at the fact that she’s beginning to tire Hilda out. 

But Hilda’s strength exceeds Alois’ by far, and blocking such strikes is beginning to tire Edelgard, too. But she will press on.

Though, she can’t help but wonder… “Why are you here, then?” She pauses to take a breath. “If you’ve such a disdain for me, why join my army, why fight for the future I intend to build?”

“Well, if you must know…” Hilda says, so casually, even as she takes deep breaths between her sentences and her swings. “I get to be with my friends. They believe in your world. Claude was happy to hand the Alliance over. And you let him go. So. I trust my friends’ judgment. Even if it doesn’t mean that much to me personally.” She punctuates each sentence with attacks that gradually increase in ferocity, her arms wavering with exertion.

“Yes, I suppose it wouldn’t appeal to you all that much, would it?” Edelgard pauses to grunt when she blocks a particularly hard strike. “A society where one must _earn_ one’s privilege.”

Hilda’s expression turns sour. “How _rude!”_ She steps back a few paces and Edelgard takes the opportunity to stretch her arms out. “Ugh,” Hilda huffs, “you’re making me _work!”_

With that, she moves back in. She’s a blur of pink as her axe rises to the sky above, before falling again like a bolt of lightning. 

Edelgard’s shield rises to meet it.

Wood and metal collide.

And then comes the thunder.

A resounding _crack_ echoes throughout the grounds, and Edelgard’s eyes narrow at the exertion of standing up to such might. Yet she remains steady regardless. She bends to no one.

Everything goes silent, save for Edelgard’s pulse in her ears and Hilda panting ahead of her. She glances down, and Hilda is unmoving, where she can see past her shield. So she lowers it, careful not to be caught off guard, only to reveal Hilda gawping at the pointy twig in her hands.

Edelgard’s brow furrows. She looks around to find shards of wood scattered on the floor around the two of them. She looks at the front of her shield, too—there’s a bit of a scuff among the red now.

She looks back up at Hilda and raises an eyebrow.

“Aw, nuts.” Hilda drops her stick. It clatters on the stone while she stretches her arms above her head. “I _yield,”_ she yawns.

“Another win for Her Majesty!”

Another wave of cheers resounds. Edelgard sighs through her nose, relaxing her muscles but suppressing the urge to stretch her limbs out again. Bizarrely enough, Caspar runs out onto the arena to start circling around them, picking up the splinters. He’s always one to work hard, but that hasn’t often manifested as voluntary cleaning before.

Before Edelgard can ask what has gotten into him, however, Hilda draws her attention. As the cheers die down, Hilda groans, “Ugh…fighting wears me out.” Her arms lower, and she seems to have already caught her breath, despite what she said. “To be honest, I probably wouldn’t have thought of joining you if the Professor hadn’t come up to me, all teary-eyed and pouting. She _pouts_ now, isn’t it weird?”

An image of glistening green eyes and a trembling lower lip comes forth in Edelgard’s mind.

“Yes,” she says, smiling. “She can be surprisingly difficult to say no to, at times.”

And Hilda stares for a moment, before an absolutely _wicked_ grin spreads across her face.

Edelgard curses herself for her blunder. Now Hilda knows, too. Fantastic.

“Whatever the cause may be,” she says before Hilda can start tormenting her, “the Empire is grateful to have new allies such as yourself on our side. Your performance defending against the Knights of Seiros was exemplary, and your immense strength will be invaluable in the battles still to come. Though, you’d do well to preserve your weapons, in future.”

“Sure, sure, whatever.” Hilda’s smile seems a little more genuine now, despite her deflection. “Just don’t expect me to go out and die for you.”

“Of course.” Edelgard averts her gaze. 

_If only every soldier shared that mentality._

“Come on, you two!” Caspar shouts, his booming voice smashing straight through Edelgard’s dejection. “You’re holding my match up!” 

The stone around them is clear of the late axe, now. Caspar’s looking expectantly between the two of them, back and forth and back again.

“Sorry, Caspar,” Hilda sing-songs. “Don’t let me keep you waiting.” She turns to saunter off. Caspar’s full attention turns to Edelgard.

She’s unable to stop herself grinning in the slightest at his relentless enthusiasm. “You’ve my deepest apologies, Caspar. Show them what you’re made of, and we might have our own battle, soon.”

“You got it, Edelgard!” He pumps his fist along with his words, and she grins a little wider in response. 

She wastes no more of his time. She takes a moment to return her axe to its rack. She makes for the edge of the arena, approaching the door once more, meeting her teacher’s crinkling eyes as she readies herself for the next round of praise. 

“Edelgard. That was very good, you—”

“Who am I fighting? Come on, get up here!” Caspar’s voice resounds from behind, presumably aimed at the crowd around them.

Byleth looks over Edelgard’s shoulder. “Oh. I must subdue Caspar. Sorry.” 

A bizarre mix of relief and disappointment wells up inside Edelgard at the loss of her praise.

And it’s not as if Byleth has ever been one to restrain Caspar’s enthusiasm before, unless it was causing problems. But she knows him better than Edelgard does. So be it.

She does her best not to let her inner turmoil creep into her voice as she says, “Very well, then. I wish I had some advice for you with Caspar, but I fear that there’s little I could offer you regarding him.”

At that, Byleth smiles, and it’s wondrous how soothing it is. She walks past, and Edelgard leaves the grounds, with Hubert suddenly at her side again.

As the outer doors close behind them, Caspar’s war cries start to sound out, clearly audible even from such a distance.

“It would seem that the Professor was unable to silence him after all,” Hubert says. “I do not envy whoever he is shouting in the face of. Are you certain you do not wish for me to interfere, Lady Edelgard? I could always rein him in myself.”

“Yes, Hubert, I’m certain,” Edelgard says, exasperation lacing her tone. “Besides, he might not end up being my next opponent. Though I can scarcely imagine who might defeat him.”

“Perhaps he will trip and simply hand the victory over, as he did before.”

“Ugh, please. Don’t remind me of that.”

They arrive at Byleth’s room soon after. Hubert again guards the door while Edelgard enters and closes it behind her. She takes a moment to give a long sigh and stretch out, before slumping into the chair.

There’s little reason for her to have returned, really—it’s only Caspar’s match before the finals, and his battles don’t tend to last. But truthfully, she quite enjoys being in her teacher’s room. It’s comfortable. Comforting, even. 

She makes no attempt to continue with her work. There’s little point trying; it’s obvious that there’s no time to get into the rhythm of it, and she’s too fatigued to concentrate anyway. Instead, she opts to simply bask in the atmosphere, breathing her teacher’s scent.

* * *

Edelgard jumps from her daydreaming when the door slams open, much later on than she’d have thought. She looks up to find her teacher looking…a little disheveled, almost? And Hubert, who’s looking rather displeased as he rises to his feet again.

“Edelgard. It’s your turn.”

“My teacher, did you…” She pauses to run her eyes over Byleth again, taking in the scuffs and bits of dirt on her jacket. “…fall? On the way here?”

She tilts her head. “No.”

Edelgard’s brow furrows, but she gets no chance to question further, as Byleth pulls her to her feet. Her hands again squeeze Edelgard’s cheeks, delightfully firm this time, and again she summons a blush beneath her touch.

“I was going to heal you before,” she says, her hands lighting up as she stares deep into Edelgard’s eyes. 

The warmth in Edelgard’s cheeks floods throughout her body, her fatigue washing away like petals along a river’s flow. She gives as full of a nod as she is able, a little lost in her teacher’s overwhelming presence. 

The way her beautiful green eyes focus so readily on Edelgard, her attention never divided… The way her lovely scent is that much stronger when she’s so tantalisingly close… The way her hands are so strong yet so gentle, so rough yet so soft… And the way her lips are ever so slightly pursed in concentration…could they be as soft as her hands…? 

Another contented hum spills from Edelgard unbidden. She could just stay like this forever… 

Though…one thing strikes odd about the whole situation. “What…was the hurry?” She latches onto the single coherent line of reasoning to ground herself and clarifies, “Coming in here, my teacher?”

“Your next opponent is waiting for you.”

Despite her teacher’s intensity, Edelgard grins. “Yes, I imagine Caspar would be rather impatient,” she says, some strength returned to her voice and to her legs beneath her.

Byleth tilts her head. Her hands lower, and Edelgard forces down the whine that she almost let out. “It’s not Caspar,” Byleth says.

Again, Edelgard is given no chance to consider these words, as she’s handed her shield and yanked from the room.

“Your Majesty!” Hubert calls, gone in a flash as Byleth drags Edelgard along by her hand.

“Professor! Slow”—she stumbles as she attempts to keep up—“down! I can’t run so fast in this armour!”

Byleth slows in the slightest, but Edelgard is still having great difficulty matching her relentless pace.

And as such, it’s no time at all before they arrive. Byleth bursts through both sets of doors, attracting the attention of all the people there, and she all but launches Edelgard towards her corner of the arena.

Edelgard looks to each side as she regains her balance and walks towards the rack of axes. It seems that all of the soldiers have left; the rest that remain are her friends. Some who were eliminated even bothered to return. In fact, just about all of them are here. Even Bernadetta, who would likely prefer to be anywhere less crowded, is sitting to one side with her knees to her chest and a tiny smile on her face. Even Lysithea, who would certainly prefer to be working on her magic, is sitting cross-legged against a pillar, albeit with an open tome on her lap. Even Ferdinand, and Annette, and Alois, and even Hilda have all stuck around, too.

And in the presence of only her friends—and Hilda and the tournament organiser, but she can stomach the two exceptions—Edelgard finds herself grinning like a fool for them all to see. It’s lovely that they care enough to watch her last fight.

She arrives at the rack and takes up her axe in what is hopefully the last time for a while. She turns to see who her opponent is—to find out who among her friends could possibly have defeated Caspar and gotten her teacher so worked up.

And in the opposite corner of the ring, the person that is standing there is none other than Byleth herself. 

She casts the Sword of the Creator aside with utter irreverence, and it clatters on the stones as she takes up a training axe of her own. She turns from the rack, revealing an uncharacteristically wide smile spread across her face. She has no armour besides her few usual pieces. She has no mount, either. Nor a shield. It’s just…Byleth.

Edelgard ought to be incensed.

Hubert is certainly looking that way, as he arrives through the still open doors. The Emperor’s time is finite, after all. There was no need for Edelgard to be present at all if her teacher was capable of winning the tournament herself. In fact, considering how many of the others showed up, the axe would most likely have ended up in Byleth’s hands regardless of who won.

Yet despite all that, Edelgard feels a smirk working its way onto her face. She never tires of their spars. Her teacher is one of the few people that can provide a challenge for her, and if nothing else, she is simply grateful to have an excuse to spend time with her. And it’s not as if Edelgard could ever truly be mad at her. Especially when she looks so excited, too.

“I see how it is.” She plants her feet into the ground, taking her battle stance once more. “Come then, my teacher! Show me what you’re capable of!”

Byleth’s smile grows wider, and Edelgard’s attention drifts.

“Begin!”

She’s shaken back to action as Byleth moves faster than lightning, closing the distance and taking her first swing.

Edelgard’s shield raises on instinct alone to block the strike. Her arm rattles with the force of the blow, yet Byleth gives no quarter—the next comes stronger, faster. 

Edelgard focuses. Mentally shakes herself. She cannot slip up if she hopes to win.

They soon find a rhythm. Byleth swings again and again with tremendous force behind every blow, and Edelgard blocks with her shield, with her axe, and then with her shield again. Occasionally an attack slips past her defences, but can only bounce off her armour. Still, she cannot afford to relax. Her head is still exposed.

Byleth makes a horizontal sweep, before following up with an uppercut, a quick jab from the side, and another sweep right after.

Every now and then, an opportunity to strike back presents itself. Edelgard takes each one, channelling her might into her axe, forcing Byleth to give her space. But each time, Byleth comes back not a moment later. She’s much too quick—Edelgard can’t strike back fast enough to land a hit. 

Edelgard follows Byleth’s strike from the side with a quick counter-attack. Byleth dashes back in with a swing aimed for Edelgard’s chest.

Byleth continues smiling serenely as she dances in circles around her, and Edelgard is torn between joy and frustration at the sight. It’s wonderful to see her so openly enjoying herself. Yet it’s _infuriating_ to already be so exhausted, to be so ineffective, to be so _outmatched._

Her axe blocks an overhead swing. Her shield halts a sweep from the side. Her breastplate clonks when an attack slips by her defences.

Edelgard is sweating, her limbs are aching, she’s panting for air. The spring’s air is doing little to keep her cool, now. The sunlight from above is less comforting, more oppressive. And yet, Byleth looks mostly unbothered. It’s ludicrous how much stamina she has. All that running around pays off. But a sheen of sweat _is_ starting to form across her steadily flushing skin. That is something, at least.

Swipe, swing, and sweep. Bash. Crash. _Smash._

And once again, Byleth’s axe comes flying in, just so. Yet this time, everything slows for a moment. There’s the slightest of openings in her defence. Rather than wasting another opportunity with her axe, Edelgard finds her muscles moving on memory alone. A technique Byleth taught her—her leg flies out to sweep Byleth’s own legs from under her. 

Byleth at least has the decency to look shocked at the upset. Her eyes widen as she tumbles to the ground, and Edelgard chases after her. Her axe crashes against the stone next to Byleth’s neck. To prove a point. And Edelgard drops to sit on her legs, holding each of her arms, pinning her to the ground. She has been known to turn battles around from the floor, after all.

Byleth pushes upwards against Edelgard’s hands, and Edelgard leans forward a bit to put more of her weight into it. To show that she won’t relinquish her control of the situation.

And neither of them attempts to move, after that.

Edelgard stares into Byleth’s eyes, catching her breath and resting her tired muscles. Byleth stares into Edelgard’s eyes, looking quite comfortable, all things considered.

Quiet giggling coming from some distance away brings Edelgard down from her battle haze. As the adrenaline passes in the slightest, she begins to properly process the situation.

She is sitting on her teacher.

Byleth is pinned down against the stones, downright pliant beneath Edelgard. Her hair is fanned out in a halo surrounding her head—it’s honestly rather fitting—and her head is tipped back in the slightest, exposing just a little bit more of her neck. Edelgard can see the deep flushing of her skin, can hear her quick and shallow breaths, can count the drops of sweat beading across her brow.

Edelgard swallows hard. Her face floods with heat, the tips of her ears blazing, and yet she is unable to look away. All she can do is continue staring into the sun that’s beneath her, shining brighter than the one in the sky above, the sight burning itself into her mind.

And soon Byleth’s smile returns, positively blinding in its radiance. Edelgard’s heart skips a beat. Several beats.

“Very well done, Edelgard. I yield.”

“Her Majesty wins the tournament!”

Deafening cheers resound, but it takes Edelgard a long moment before her mind catches up, so lost as she was in her teacher’s smile. But she does eventually register the meaning of the words. She bolts to her feet, averting her gaze as she offers a hand to bring Byleth back up, too. Her armour feels constricting, all of a sudden. Since when was it so hot?

“That was excellent,” Byleth says over the din, attracting Edelgard’s attention once more.

She’s still smiling, but now with a certain lopsided tilt. The gentle sparkle in her eyes, the slight way she’s leaning forward… 

_Oh no._

“You did wonderfully with—”

“Don’t,” Edelgard blurts, a vague attempt to halt the impending barrage of praise.

“Oh.” Byleth blinks. “Okay.”

Edelgard can only smile in gratitude. How wonderful her teacher is, to take everything in her stride as she does.

Edelgard had the foresight to ask her teacher not to pat her head in public. So many times, it has saved her already. But it never occurred to ask her to withhold her compliments; it hadn’t been an issue until now. Edelgard will ask another time, when they’re not surrounded by people.

“Another time,” Edelgard relays, her voice sounding steady, more or less. “We can discuss it another time. Not now.”

Byleth smiles again. Edelgard does too.

But, as always, the moment cannot last. This time, reality takes the form of a voice from behind. “Your Majesty?”

Edelgard turns, grateful that the heat in her cheeks seems to have subsided. The tournament organiser is there, holding up an axe of gleaming silver.

“Ah.” It had slipped her mind that she just won the tournament. “My thanks,” she says, taking the proffered weapon. 

The tournament organiser bows away and Edelgard steps away from her teacher. She looks around to make sure that the space around her is clear, finding her friends looking curious, but none of them in her range. And she takes a few test swings. 

The axe is heavy enough to do substantial damage, but not enough to be unwieldy. Its balance is just right—it’s easy to get its momentum going, and even easier to stop it after a swing. The handle has a good grip. The blade’s edge is razor-sharp. And even the non-blade parts are polished to a sheen.

It’s exquisite. 

Edelgard takes a few more swings, before allowing herself to indulge in the slightest. She spins the axe in her hands, twirling and twisting it this way and that. And then, she tosses it aloft, glints of sunlight reflecting off of it as it flies into the air. On its way back down, she catches it, just below the head.

And she walks back to Byleth to offer her the axe’s handle.

“It’s a good weapon. Here you are, my teacher. I have Aymr, anyway.”

For her part, Byleth is looking rather surprised. She’s staring at Edelgard, her expression vacant, her features motionless. Completely ignoring the axe. 

Edelgard matches her stare and waits. She will discern what she wants to say, in the fullness of time.

Eventually, Byleth blinks a few times, her eyes focusing once more. “Your axe spinning is always very impressive.”

Edelgard’s cheeks start to heat up again. She should have known this would happen. She does her best to ignore it and says, “Thank you, my teacher…” 

A moment passes. 

“Are you going to take the axe?”

Byleth’s eyes widen. “Oh. Yes. Thank you, Edelgard.”

Edelgard smiles and lowers her hand once Byleth has taken the weapon.

Then Byleth’s head tilts, and against what may end up being her better knowledge, Edelgard can’t help but ask, “Is there…something else on your mind?”

She hums, seemingly considering.

“We should do that again,” she says. “Being underneath you felt good.”

Edelgard’s mind ceases functioning. Her body goes tense—it’s all she can do to stare.

Byleth shakes her head, smiling. “Another time. Thank you again, Edelgard. Goodbye.”

And with that, she runs off, leaving Edelgard where she stands.

* * *

It’s late in the evening when Edelgard deems her work completed to a satisfactory degree. The candles have burned low. There’s more light coming from the moon through the window than from them.

She rises from her seat. She stretches her limbs. Her neck cracks as she rolls her head from one side to the other. She rubs her eyes, too, to clear her vision in the slightest. And then she moves around the room, extinguishing what remains of the candles. When none remain, she leaves her office. The way to her room is lit by the occasional candle sconce and, once she’s outside, the moon’s light. The guards posted about the monastery salute their Emperor as she passes, but they voice no worry over the late hours she keeps. If anything, they’re likely more surprised at how early she’s turning in.

In truth, her paperwork isn’t completed, and she’ll have to make up for it in the coming days. She could continue. She _should_ continue. She’d be a poor emperor indeed, if she did not give her all for the people. And she would, normally.

Yet tonight she’s distracted. A certain image keeps intruding into her thoughts, and her fingers itch to draw. The quill she was signing forms with weighed heavy in her hand—she almost found herself sketching on the papers. It was bad enough when, as a student, she slipped up by allowing a doodle to remain on one of her class reports. And only her teacher saw it, then. Her ears burn at the mere thought of anyone else being privy to her disgraceful attempts at art. How pathetic.

She soon arrives at her room. She wastes no more time—the door locks behind her, and she sits at her desk. She remains wearing her crown and armour, but it matters not.

Her artistic skills indeed leave much to be desired, seeing as how she has such precious few moments to practice. But she would be remiss if she didn’t at least attempt to immortalise the scene. Such inspiration is ever so rare.

So she takes a blank sheet of paper and some charcoal. She thinks back, her lips curving upwards as she recalls such… _radiant_ beauty. And she sets to work. Eyes wide, smile wider, cheeks flushed, skin damp with sweat, and hair fanned out across the stone.

_“Being underneath you felt good.”_

She couldn’t have meant that, could she?

But she’s never one to lie. Never one to say anything other than the absolute truth.

So she meant exactly what she said.

It felt good.

_She’s right._

It’s tempting to, for just a moment, toy with the possibility that she feels the same. 

With how, no matter where or when they are, she always seems to end up standing beside Edelgard…

With how expressive she is, how bright she shines, only when she’s around Edelgard… 

And with how… _blatant_ her favouritism can be… Only _ever_ for Edelgard…

But no. Surely she would have said something by now if that were the case. She is, after all, never one to say anything other than the absolute truth.

But it matters not. As long as she remains by Edelgard’s side, it matters not if she feels the same. As for Edelgard’s feelings… They are irrelevant.

So Edelgard will ask her to stay. 

But they cannot afford to be distracted. Thus, after the war’s end.

After the war’s end, Edelgard will ask her to stay by her side.

And no more than that. Edelgard dare not hope for more. 

After all. She already owes so much to her teacher.

Her strength, her skills, her allies and friends, old and new. Her will to press onwards in the face of impossible odds, and the light that guides her through the darkest of days.

But, the drawing… This memory in particular… 

A window into the unreachable heights at which her teacher soars. A vision of perfection, wasted on an undeserving emperor, yet nonetheless bestowed with a smile. 

The heat of the sun, cast down from clear skies, blooming the flowers and illuminating the lands. The flow of a river, water coursing downstream, bringing life to the plants and animals alike. The leaves of the trees, the breeze through open fields, all the light and life of the world…

This radiance, this magnificence, this beauty, warmth, strength, grace, and _love…_

It’s a truly precious gift.

**Author's Note:**

> Byleth has no idea what she’s doing to Edelgard.
> 
> thanks for reading. comments are always welcome and greatly appreciated, so if you’d like to share any thoughts, please feel free. and hey, i’d love to know if you correctly guessed any of Edelgard’s opponents before they were revealed.
> 
> either way, i hope you have a spectacular day.
> 
> also, i made a twitter account. the dms are open if you want to yell at me, but know that i’m not planning to use it much otherwise. you can find it [here.](https://twitter.com/byedletre)


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